


Word of the day: Ceraunphile

by Kamalika



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Astraphobia, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 03:59:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10823301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamalika/pseuds/Kamalika
Summary: Allison is stranded in a thunderstorm with her car broken down. She doesn't like it is an understatement.





	Word of the day: Ceraunphile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Davechicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/gifts).



She shrinks back under the awning as another whitish-blue streak threads across the pitch black sky, illuminating the entire street briefly before she is left alone, bathed in the scant glow of the lone yellow streetlamp. She knows what is coming next and she hates it – it reminds her of the report of the gun, something she loathes with her entire being, one reason she sticks to her crossbow. Logically it doesn’t make sense because it is just as lethal if not gorier. But a rifle somehow seems colder, more impersonal, infinitely more ruthless. There is the least bit of skill involved – just point at shoot, point and shoot, no matter where you aim it, as long as it is a wolfsbane bullet, your enemy is going to take a hit and die. Eventually.

Speaking of enemies, Allison squints into the semi-darkness, instinctively backing away further until her back hits the shutter. Even with rain coming down in sheets, even with thunders clapping with deafening noises, making her jump out of her skin each time it happens (she really, really hates thunderstorms), she is alert of her surroundings. She knows which of the shadows belong and therefore when one moves, when it shouldn’t have, she knows to be wary of it. Shadows are slippery and in a town like Beacon Hills, in a time like this, when darkness has been feeding upon their hearts for some time and Stiles...smart, stupidly brave, sarcastic, loyal, too kind for his own good Stiles...has fallen prey to the darkness and is somewhere out there, helpless and lost.

Only this shadow doesn’t try to hide itself, but becomes a human figure and stalks towards her, like he doesn’t know better.

“What are you doing here?” Allison is the first one to break the silence.

Derek turns towards her at that. They have been standing side by side for a few minutes now. Allison knows by this time that Derek is a man of few words, but this is ridiculous even by his standard.

“Same thing as you.” Derek answers in his patented monotone that gives nothing away. “Looking for Stiles.”

“On foot?” Allison asks incredulously. It is on the opposite side of Beacon Hills from where Derek’s loft is located.

Derek just raises an eyebrow.

Right. Werewolves.

God, how much Allison hates him and then she is flinching again as a particularly vicious boom of thunder nearly blasts her eardrums. When she opens her eyes again, Derek is looking at her curiously and when their eyes meet, he averts his. Politely.

She would snort, if she is not so fucking terrified. She knows her fear is illogical, like her intense dislike of guns, but she cannot quite control it.

Allison doesn’t want to give it away, but she cannot help it either, not when Derek is standing within a touchable distance. She knows it and she doesn’t like it one bit, but Derek is not budging from his spot. At least he is keeping his mouth shut.

“Do you have signal?” She suddenly blurts out. “On your phone?” She adds when Derek turns his head to look at her again.

“I don’t have my phone on me.” He says. “And you shouldn’t use mobile phones during a thunderstorm anyway.”

“That’s just bullshit you know.” Allison finds herself saying before she can stop herself. “It’s just that – ”

The next burst of thunder has Allison put her hands over her ears. She feels like cowering. It is a good time to cower.

“The debate is still open on that front.” Derek is saying over the peal of thunder and he is staring straight in front.

“Are we seriously arguing over the use of cellphones during thunderstorms.” Allison stares incredulously at the profile of Derek’s face. Her tone may be slightly judgey.

Derek’s jaw ticks under his skin although he doesn’t say anything, and Allison feels like shit for no reason.

The silence stretches on and it has Allison shift from one foot to the other. She doesn’t know what to say and she is acutely aware of Derek’s presence beside her. She knows if she sits down on the sidewalk with her back resting against the shutter and waits for the dawn until a car passes by and she gets a lift, Derek will be standing beside her, until she is safely ensconced in a car or probably in her home.

Allison knows this, but she doesn’t know what to make of it.

She pulls her jacket closer and shivers.

The silence is unsettling. Allison has never spent such a long time in the presence of another human being who has the power of making silence so eloquent like the wolf standing next to her.

Have they really exhausted their entire quota of speech already? With the hate-filled spat they had in the cursed bank vault? Was it all they had to say to each other?

“I like thunderstorms.”

Allison gives another full-body jerk at Derek’s voice. Not the least because she has never heard Derek sound like that. Soft, gentle, and wonder of wonders, it seems normal, like this is what he sounds like. Should sound like.

Derek is still not looking at her though.

“It is a strange thing to love.” He smiles, self-deprecating. “But I love the sense of danger. The smell of electricity in air. Everything is...charged.”

Allison cannot tear his eyes off Derek. He is standing in his usual rigid posture, arms across the chest, head slightly tilted towards the sky and yellow streetlight highlighting the sharp slant of his cheekbones.

“They talk about the sweet smell of petrichor, but do you know the earth gives out a smell even before the rain comes down.” Derek goes on like Allison is still standing all stoic and steady on the ground.

She is not.

Her world is moving under her.

Taking her with the motion.

“It kind of smells of hope.”

To her horror, Allison’s eyes are stinging.

She suddenly understands so much, probably too much about the man standing by her side. Warm and solid and unyielding. Her heart is brimming over, even if her eyes are not.

And she will stand beside him. Shoulder to shoulder. Next time death comes knocking at their door.

That is the promise she makes herself when finally a police cruiser pulls over at the curb not long after and the deputy offers Allison a lift casting a suspicious glare towards Derek who looks back at him, cold and unflinching.

“You ok, honey?” The deputy asks her once she has settled down in the passenger seat. He is one of her father’s drinking mates at the bar and is sort of a family friend. Though he is not probably in-the-know. Or so she hopes.

The deputy is still glancing over at Derek who is standing alone on the sidewalk now. The brief flashes of thunder illuminating his chiseled muscles.

“He didn’t try anything funny with you. Did he?”

Allison knows Derek can hear every word the deputy is saying, but he doesn’t move a single muscle, and even if he does, it’s not visible through the blurry windshield with the wiper swiping across it.

“No.” She shakes her head.

Then she settles down in the warm seat, grateful to be inside.

She doesn’t know it until much, much later, when she is safe in her own bed, and she has Scott calling her to let her know Stiles has been found and that something is wrong with him and that he has been admitted to the hospital...and she feels numb...like it is an information that she just listens to and files away without feeling any emotion, that she has left a piece of herself on the sidewalk, under the awning, in the bleak thunderstorms.

And if she goes back even now she will find Derek, waiting, drenched to his skin, tired with dark circles around his eyes, waiting for her, talking about odd tidbits while not looking her in the eyes, talking her fears away, talking – the thing Derek probably hates the most...

He will be waiting...

And it will be a mirage.

Allison reiterates it to herself lest she forgets: Shoulder to shoulder.

Next time.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, published my original work. If you like my fic, don't forget to drop by at my website at  
> [www.theauthorkamalika.org](https://www.theauthorkamalika.org/)


End file.
